


Spawn

by bmlhillenkeene



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmlhillenkeene/pseuds/bmlhillenkeene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley ends up pregnant with Bobby's Spawn.<br/>On the run from Demons again, and with Bobby Singer dead, there's only two people Crowley can turn to.<br/>None of them have to like the arrangement however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story will mostly be about Crowley dealing with raising a half human Spawn with the help of the Winchester boys, but I figured a little Bobby/Crowley wouldn't go amiss to help explain their adorable relationship.

Demons don't love.

That isn't to say that they can't.

Bobby knew that better than any human alive he reckoned. Because even though Crowley never said it, Bobby knew.

He knew, because when he whispered "I love you", into the darkness of his room, arms tight around the Demon, Crowley didn't answer.

xxx

Demons can love.

They just choose not to.

They do, in fact, regularly love a great deal of things, but in the context of romantic entanglements, love is not a term ever bandied about, because to love another person was to invite disaster upon yourself.

But Crowley did love, but he would not admit to it, except that he did. Every single time he did not refute Bobby's declaration.


	2. Cravings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's pregnancy cravings freak Sam and Dean out. What can I say, he's a Demon!

"Ok, that's just-eww." Dean said, wrinkling his nose, less than a minute away from gagging.

Sam was looking pretty green, but like his brother he just couldn't seem to look away. It really was a grotesque sight. "Maybe-" Sam had to swallow back a choking sound before he could continue. "Maybe it a Dem-"

"Of course it's a Demon thing!" Dean hissed. "He's a goddamned Demon!"

The silence that fell then was only broken by the awful slurping, and Dean was more than convinced it was being done on purpose. No one slurped that much when they were eating, even soup, and what Crowley was eating was definitely not soup.

There was a sucking pop as Crowley drew a now clean finger out of his mouth and retrieved another stick of celery from the bowl by his side and ducked it into the cup he was holding, swirling it neatly before taking it out dripping thick red, black clots clinging to the hapless vegetable.

The first crunch of the new treat drove Dean off the bed and into the bathroom, leaving Sam to stare at the Demon curled up on the other motel bed, eyes never leaving the small TV screen where a documentary on the Concentration Camps was showing rather horrific re-enactments of the gassing of prisoners.

It was for Bobby. Sam had to keep reminding himself of that. This was for Bobby, for his memory. He would have wanted them to do this Sam knew, would have done it himself if he'd still been alive. For whatever reason (and Sam was sure he would never understand what that reason was) Bobby had liked the Demon, maybe even loved him, and nothing would have stopped him from protecting him from those that were after him.

And to be fair it was kind of Bobby's fault that Crowley was on the run from Hell again, why he had turned up on their motel room doorstep, trying desperately to claw back some dignity so it didn't look like he was begging for their help, like he had more than the clothes on his back and a hellhound to his name (which was currently sprawled on the floor beside the bed, big enough for Crowley to pet it occasionally without having to reach too far).

And it was obvious, to Sam at least, that Crowley had sort of liked, maybe loved, Bobby right back, because he was a Demon, and it would hardly be difficult for a Demon to abort (quote) "The little parasitic human spawn" before it had become an issue for the other Demons to take offense to. Before it had become a danger to Crowley's own existence. He saw him sometimes, when the Demon thought no one was paying attention, stroking the slight bulge in his belly, a thoughtful, almost sad expression on his face.

It was how Sam knew he had not made the wrong decision forcing Dean to let them take the Demon in that night, despite Dean's constant bitching and "bad omens" talk, and Crowley's bitching about the accommodations, the travelling, Dean, the food, the clothes, Dean, Castiel, and Dean. Though Sam did sometimes think the bitching about Dean was more to piss Dean off than anything else, which was sometimes kind of funny to watch.

The only thing that really truly made him regret taking Crowley in was the cravings the Demon had. The celery stick swirled back into the cup of congealed blood and Sam really hoped Dean would hurry up in the bathroom, because he was going to need a turn in there very soon.


	3. Labour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's about to pop, but things aren't going to plan

Crowley paced, his normally imperious stride was reduced to a painful shuffle, one hand stroking his swollen belly, to other catching and holding whatever was in reach to keep himself upright. For the moment that support included the beds, the wall and the chairs from the motel table he'd dragged across the room for this purpose after Growley had taken off to sulk in the corner.

Granted that was his own fault, Growley was a sensitive soul, and he knew yelling at the big brute would hurt his feelings, but really, he was entitled to a bit of yelling, and it wasn't his fault there was no one else there. If those stupid boys had stayed put like they were supposed to and not gone gallivanting off to another of their moronic hunts he could have yelled at them.

He groaned as pain lanced through his belly, gripped the edge of the chair he had been steadying himself on, and bit back a wordless keen. He did not hold it in as much as he would have liked, because Growley whimpered a little.

To be fair (not that he wanted to be), he had practically thrown this particular hunt at the brothers to get them out of the motel room. He had known today was the day, and had arranged for the morons to be out of the way for at least 24 hours, to give him time to expel the Spawn and (he shuddered to even consider it) - Bond- with the slimy, squirmy thing before he had to face the inevitable cooing and babying he would have to suffer through when Dumb and Dumber arrived back to find the child of their mentor had finally arrived.

That had been fourteen hours ago, and he was now entered his twelfth hour of labour, which was all manner of wrong. He had been ready for two hours of intense pain as the baby clawed its way through his essence that had wrapped about it in the demonic parody of a womb and tore out of his meat suit. It was not a pleasant thing to endure, which was why Demons rarely had children of their own, but at least it was quick, and the damage either healed itself after, or the baby would gorge itself on what remained of its parent.

Demons emerged ready to fight, ready to kill, there was no such thing as infancy, Demons simply did not have the time nor the inclination to care for an infant, demon young could walk mere hours after birth and would latch themselves to their parent, or if that parent was no longer around, the next Demon who either didn't notice the little tag along or saw the potential of raising a demon.

Now, Crowley had no intentions of dying after the little Bugger had clawed its way out, he'd been careful, eaten all the right sorts of things (though that damn craving for human vegetables had thrown him for a loop), drank all the right amounts of blood, and had planned the entire thing meticulously.

But he was twelve hours in and the little bastard was still squirming about inside him, pushing at the essence that held it. He cursed, lowly as the pain hit him again. This prolonged suffering was agony, and when he finally reclaimed Hell (if those idiotic demons thought he would not be coming back to destroy them, they were very sadly mistaken) he was going to make sure each and every one of them was knocked up by a human, because this was far more torturous that a hundred years on Alastair's rack.

It was the human blood, he had always known it would cause problems, had known that he should have smothered the tiny life out the instant it had been conceived, but he hadn't. Had found himself unable to when faced with Bobby's contented face after that night. He hadn't found the time to tell him about the baby before the human had died, and he regretted that, because if he had, perhaps Bobby would have tried *harder* to stay alive and he would have someone to eviscerate for putting him into this damned position.

If he was in any fit state to search for a knife he would cut the buggering thing out himself, clearly human blood made the baby soft, made it too weak to tear itself free with any speed. He'd be dead before it got through his essence at this rate, or it would be. His knees' shook as another wave of pain flared up through him and he crashed to the floor, only his iron grip on the chain keeping him from toppling completely.

Growley made another whimpering noise and padded across the room to nudge at his back with his nose. Crowley could only grip the chair tighter, teeth clenching and hissed out. "Be glad you're dead Bobby Singer." He closed his eyes and wished for the thousandth time that his lover was alive.

xxx

Crowley had never been more pathetically glad to see the Moose and the Moron than he was right at that moment. Or more rather, he had never been more glad to see a Demon killing knife before, and if the Moose did not get his ass across the room and stab him right in the belly this instant, he was going to do something drastic.

He was leaning back against Growley, trembling with sheer effort not to give in, not the fall asleep. The little Spawn was finally, *finally* dragging itself out of his essence, he could feel it clutching and clawing and squirming, but its progress was too slow.

24 hours and counting and he was reaching the end of his strength. If something wasn't done soon then neither of them was going to survive.

"Crowley?" Moose cried out, all twelve feet of bleeding heart, and stomped his way across the room. "Crowley are you ok? Is the baby ok?"

Crowley eyed him, noting by the flinch Moose made that his eyes had reverted to red. "Get me a knife." He ground out, tensing and choking back a cry as another contraction lanced through him. "Get me a fucking knife!"

"Sam, what's happening?" Moron asked, and Crowley was sorry his teeth seemed welded into the grooves they had cut into his lower lips and another contraction hit on the hells of the last. He would have enjoyed giving him a blow by blow account of just what exactly was happening.

Moose looked around frantically for a while, like the answer wasn't staring him in the face. Finally he turned a frightened expression to his brother. "I think he's having the baby."

"You mean he's giving birth?" Moron asked. "Like right now? Right here?"

"I'd have to say *yes* Dean."

Crowley let out a wholly undignified strangled sound, forcing his jaw to unclench as he felt the small teeth of the child inside him tear into his essence, feeding on him. "The knife!" he spat out between gritted teeth.

The Moose looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned. "You can't have it naturally can you?" then he paused and Crowley groaned, the knife still hadn't made an appearance. "Though how does a demon have a baby anyway? I mean, you're all sort of smoke. How do you even carry a baby if you're not in a meat suit?"

"Uh… Sam…"

"And seriously, you were male right? I mean when you were alive, before you became a demon? So how is it even possible for you to even have a baby? Unless you become sexless like the angels do. I suppose that might be a possibility."

"…Sam…"

"And if you are smoke then-"

Crowley's temper, already frayed beyond all reason, his strength fading faster and faster, felt the last remnants of his power lash out, setting the brothers bed on fire, anything to catch their attention, adrenaline letting him push himself up, his voice raising and cutting off the damned ramblings.

"GET A FUCKING KNIFE AND CUT THIS HELL DAMNED CREATURE OUT OF ME!"

xxx

Moron, it had been decided would wield the knife, only because Crowley had been reduced to hissing and spitting curses and threats at them and Moron had been the one who'd fished out a knife for the job because otherwise it would never get done. Crowley had never been more relieved to feel the cold bite of steel slicing into him.

Moose kept up a litany of observations, and had Crowley's vast reserves of energy not been completely used up, his glare would have made that shaggy head pop like bubble wrap, only with more blood… and hey, at least the Spawn would have something to eat when it was finally pulled out.

With his belly cut open, he pushed back into the warm comfort of his hellhound, watching with tired eyes as the brothers Grimm pulled the edges of the wound apart, Moose cataloguing the odd ball of Demon Essence nestled in and around the human organs, the way it formed a misshapen, shadowy womb.

"Dude, seriously, *shut up*" Moron said in disgust.

Moose looked contrite for all of two seconds before he couldn't seem to help himself. "This is probably the only time we'll ever get to see a Demon's insides up close."

Moron grimaced and glanced at Crowley's face, but the Demon couldn't muster the energy for a witty retort, and settled instead for glaring, though he could only assume it looked a little pathetic given how Moron got very serious all of a sudden. "So how do we do this?"

Crowley shut his eyes for a moment. "Cut it out. Just stick your knife in and then pull the little bugger out of me."

Moron didn't waste any more time, thankfully, but he was careful when he cut, trying not to hurt the little Spawn Crowley supposed. Moose was still holding his meat suit open for Moron to work, but he wasn't watching that anymore, he was watching Crowley instead.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You're not going to die or anything? Right?"

Crowley summoned up a smirk, it was tired and pained, but the Moose's concern warranted the effort at least. How amusing that the big bad demon hunter should be worried that little ole him might die. He shuddered as Moron's hand dove into *him*, no human had ever *touched* a Demons true self, not like this as least and it was an invasion he did not like.

He felt Moron's hand find the little Spawn, and couldn't help but grin proudly when Moron shrieked, jerking his hand back out, complete with a small, bloody attachment clamped on tight. Maybe he should have warned them that Demon babies were not like human ones, but right now, seeing the look of horror, surprise and plain old shock, it was totally worth it.

Now the Spawn was out he let his eyes close and his body slump. He'd deal with everything when he woke up.

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably explain some things too.
> 
> 1) Overuse of the word Spawn? I have decided that Spawn is the word for a Demon baby/child, deal with it.
> 
> 2) Moron and Moose? Well, Crowley has an interesting sense of humour, and it makes me giggle to think of him referring to them like this in his head.
> 
> 3) The little Demon Baby? What can I say… baby angels are born with cute little wings, baby demons are born with sharp little teeth (and a taste for flesh)


	4. Spawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley meets his Spawn at last.

Crowley woke slowly, surprised to find himself cocooned in blankets. He slowly took stock of his meat suit, pleased to find it whole again. Truthfully he had not really thought he would survive, the whole thing had lasted too long and he'd been far too drained at the end of it, but somehow he'd survived.

He wondered, idly, if the Spawn had as well, or if the brothers had given into their monster killing instincts and slit its throat. He doubted it, they were too soft hearted for that, and the baby was Bobby Singers, in part at least. And the fact that he was still alive counted as well.

The faint sound of the child reached his ears, and with a great deal for effort than he had expected (he was still very drained, and very tired) he forced himself to sit up and take stock of the situation. The Spawn was sitting on the floor, nestled between Growley's paws, looking for all the world like a normal human child of about six months. The human blood had curtailed the demon growth somewhat. The child was gnawing happily away on what looked like the hilt of a knife.

His eyes tracked up from the child to the opposite bed, where Moron sat on the edge, watching him. Crowley couldn't stop the faint smirk when he saw the heavily bandaged hand he had used to remove the child, and the other bite marks he'd no doubt received when trying to lift, or otherwise handle the child.

"He's sort of cute." Moron said suddenly. "When he's not trying to eat me."

"He's hungry." Crowley pointed out.

"Sam's gone to get more milk for him."

Crowley nodded considering. "How long was I out?"

Moron shrugged. "A day."

Crowley forced himself out of the bed, staggered for a moment before straightening; ignoring Moron's curious/suspicious gaze, and made his way to his son. Red eyes blinked up at him from a too human face and the child gurgled happily, reaching out to grab a handful of Crowley's trouser leg and pull itself to its feet shakily. "So you can stand at least." Crowley said with approval, maybe the human blood had not stunted its growth too badly.

The Spawn made an insistent little noise and Crowley found himself bending to lift him up, settling him with surprising ease (given that before now he had never actually held a baby, he had had as little to do with any of the children he had had when he was human, as possible). The knife hilt fell to the floor when Crowley offered his fingers to the small mouth, winching a little as sharp teeth clamped down tightly and began to gnaw and suck happily.

Moron made a face and Crowley smirked, settling himself on his bed again. "Human food alone isn't going to keep him nourished Moron." He grinned sharply. "He is part demon after all."

Moron blanched a bit at that. "You mean he's gonna need-" he made an aborted motion towards the child's already blood smeared face.

Crowley nodded, enjoying the disgust that warred with resignation on Moron's face. "I suggest you start sharpening you knives and cleaning your guns Winchester. He's going to need some fresh meet straight off the bone and bloody for at least the next six weeks."

Moron looked startled, and then angry. "What're you implying here Crowley!"

Crowley shrugged delicately. "It's entirely up to you of course. After all, he is practically family right?" it was said with a knowing gloat, the Winchesters wouldn't turn their back on the child, not even Moron over there. "And while I'm more than happy to go out hunting for him, I'm hardly what you'd call *discerning* in who I kill now am I?"

Moron glared at him hard, and Crowley met his gaze unflinching. Not, of course, that he would go out and needlessly slaughter any humans just to feed the Spawn, he had enough… feelings… left over for Bobby to respect his memory and at least *try* to raise his child right, well… less wrong than he maybe would have done. But Moron here didn't need to know that, and it would be a while before he was back to full strength and he needed the brothers to pick up the slack.

Suddenly Moron's face softened. "We've been calling him Baby Bobby." He offered.

Crowley felt something in him clench at that, but he ruthlessly pushed it away. Feelings like that were best left for times he was alone. "Robert." He said, knowing his tone had slipped into something cold and unyielding.

Moron just nodded, but the rumble of the Impala interrupted whatever he was going to say. Moron got up and left the motel room to help Moose carry in what was probably an over abundance of baby things.

Crowley carefully pulled his chewed and bloody fingers out of Robert's mouth and looked at the little Spawn closely. He wasn't quite sure how all of this was going to play out. But he couldn't find it in him to regret it. Any of it.

Just for a moment, a brief second, he thought he felt a familiar and comforting weight rest on his shoulder and the faint scrape of coarse hair on his ear and just the merest whisper of a kiss right at his hairline. And Robert smiled as he focused on something beside Crowley.

But it was only a moment and then it was gone, and the door of the room was being pushed open, and all thoughts of Bobby Singer were put back to rest. After all, he had the Winchester boys to torment with all the marvellous little things they were going to have to deal with when helping to raise a demon child.

xxx


End file.
